


you're burning up, you're so like me

by youremyqueen



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Comment Fic, F/M, Het and Slash, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Multi, OT3, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:18:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youremyqueen/pseuds/youremyqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She fucks him one week, and fucks Freds the next, and sometimes she fucks neither of them, and they're only left with each other.</p><p>Written for a poetry comment meme on lj, prompt was: <i> love always wakes the dragon and suddenly flames everywhere</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're burning up, you're so like me

She fucks him one week, and fucks Freds the next, and sometimes she fucks neither of them, and they're only left with each other. But for all the hours or days or however long she's not there, she always _is_ there, in their hands when they pull at one another's clothes, and in the sharpness of Freddie's teeth when he bites Cook's lips, and in the friction of their hips as they grind against one another, panting and frantic and _hot_.

"Ah, ah, _Cook_ ," is just as much her name as it's Cook's own, spilling from Freddie's lips and into the sweat-slick curve of his shoulder. Part of him loves that, and part of him sees red.

It's never like it had been before she'd come here, before they knew her - lazy afternoons and skunk in the shed, nothing but them, there, close as friends could be - it's _altered_ , altered by her presence, because even when they're just Freddie and Cook, they're not just Freddie and Cook. There's an _and Effy_ tagged on at the end, every time.

He wonders, as Freds pumps his hand up and down on his cock - and yeah, _of fuck yeah that's good_ \- he wonders in that hazy, half-thought way you do when you're about to come, whether she's still just Effy. Or if, when she does whatever it is she does alone - and he can just picture her, standing stiff and still and so cool, like she does, smoking and giving that familiar, empty, 'I don't care about you,' look to passersby - if she's them, too. If she's Effy, _and Freddie_ , _and Cook_.

He's loud as all-fuck when he spills into Freddie's hand, and he doesn't care, because it's good, _so good_ , but Freds does, shoving a palm against his mouth to shush him as he works himself, and Cook just falls there, crumples, blissed-out and sated and exhausted, the heat still flowing off of him in waves. It's too much at the same time as it's not enough, burning at his skin, and he simultaneously hates Freddie for being there, moving him against him like he is, and hates her for not - and loves them both so much, _so fuckin' much_ , it aches in the backs of his eyes.

Freddie comes soon after, and once he catches his breath, he kicks Cook out. Of course. Because it's not the same anymore, and these days, Cook's never allowed to stay. He wonders why Freds even bothers. Even with him on the other side of the door, and Eff halfway across town, they'll never be _gone_ , not truly. Always burning just beneath the skin.

And when he walks the streets that night, a bottle of something he's too drunk to remember at that point clutched tight in his hand, Cook's still not really _alone_. And when he runs into her at some party or another, crawling out from behind a sofa with some nobody, damp and well-fucked, he kisses her - partly to make a point, partly because he's too sloshed not to - and he can taste Freddie on her tongue, on the points of her teeth and the curl of her lips. And he can taste himself, too. Like fire. Like he'd never been anywhere else.


End file.
